The caravan of life shall always pass
by bbdarknyss
Summary: The events of the movie have an adverse effect on Dastan. ficlet, post!movie, brother!angst
1. The caravan of life shall always pass

**The caravan of life shall always pass**

On the evening of the day of their uncle's betrayal, Dastan collapses and it is only due to Tus' quick reflexes that he doesn't fall to the floor. Tus holds Dastan close, shocked at the heat that rolls of his brother as Garsiv summons the healers with panic clear in his voice.  
Dastan lies in fever for days while the healers scour their books for a cure but there is no sign of poison or wound and except for the fever, no symptom of illness.

A messenger is sent to their father on the third day and they await his arrival now. Tus waits and watches Garsiv fret and rage. He watches as the fever consumes Dastan and knows his brother is going to die. He passes the beads of his silver misbaha through his fingers and grieves.  
On the fifth day, Garsiv falls silent and kneels next to the bed. He takes Dastan's hand in his, bows over it and weeps. Tus prays for him too.  
At the breaking of the seventh day, a messenger brings news that their father is two days away. When the healers look troubled, Tus knows the king will be too late and even though it tears him apart, he orders preparations for Dastan's funeral; Garsiv punches him and has to be restrained by his guards.  
He returns to his brother's deathbed and prays. Some time later, Garsiv joins him. Except for Dastan's laboured breaths and the soft clink of the prayer beads, the chamber is silent.  
They wait.

It's night when Princess Tamina enters the rooms, she looks pale but her mouth is set in a determined line. Garsiv lays his hand on his sword as she approaches the bed, but lets her pass when Tus draws him away. When she reaches for something in her robes, Garsiv wrenches out of his grip and rushes over to grasp at her arm.  
She shows them the phial concealed in her hand. "It will heal him. His illness is not natural but my priests are convinced they have found an elixir that will take away his fever."  
She looks at Tus. "Let me try, after all, what further harm could it do?"  
Garsiv snarls at her but Tus stops him.  
"Do it."  
She lets the potion drip slowly between Dastan's opened lips, a few drops of the green liquid escape and roll down his pale cheek. When the phial is empty, the princess stands back and sighs. "I have done all I can". Before she leaves, she casts a contemplative look at Garsiv and him.  
Tus sits down heavily in the chair next to the bed and hides his face in his hands. There is no hope left in his heart but he does not weep. Garsiv sits on the floor next to him, unhooks the misbaha from Tus' fingers and softly begins to pray.

On the morning of the ninth day, while the trumpets announcing their father's arrival sound in the distance, Dastan opens his eyes.


	2. Beware that is fresh as sweet young gras

Author's Note: First of all, thank you all for your reviews, they're immensely appreciated and treasured and I'm touched that you cared enough about this fic to comment. Thank you!

'The caravan of life' was supposed to be a one-shot, just a quick little thing inspired by a movie that I enjoyed a lot (because yay!brothers who all get along and live in the end!) but it seems that it's not ready to be put to rest yet. I'm changing this story to in progress, because I have at least one other chapter rattling around after this one and I hope I'm able to flesh it out a little more later on.

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy.

**Beware that is fresh as sweet young grass**

Garsiv doesn't like to admit it but he's known fear many times - mainly on the battlefield when the outcome of combat seemed uncertain and that one time when his horse tripped and fell in the heart of a charge upon enemy lines- but it is nothing to the fear he feels when Dastan suddenly collapses in Tus' arms during the evening of that dreadful day. He shouts for the servants and orders them to summon the healers, then he helps Tus carry Dastan to his chambers.

The healers work hard, they sponge and bathe Dastan, feed him potions and rub unguents in his limbs but Garsiv can see nothing helps. He suspects poison and goes to interrogate Nizam's spies and retinue. He wishes his uncle were still alive so he could slit the snake's throat himself. He rages at the healers and servants, he rages at Tus who sits next to their brother's bed and prays. He rages at Dastan for being ill and unresponsive. Fear coils tight in his gut and he rages at himself for failing to protect his family.

The days are endless and hot, the spices burned on the brazier in the corner of the room are sharp but cannot completely mask the smell of sweat and illness.  
He wishes his father were already here, like a child he yearns for that strong presence, that protection against all evil.  
He's tired when he enters Dastan's chambers and glances at Tus who lets the silver beads of his misbaha flow through his fingers. Dastan is pale except for the bright spots that the fever has burned on his cheeks. He looks small, diminished and young and a wave of hopelessness crashes over Garsiv. He sinks down next to the bed and takes his brother's callused hand in his and weeps. He  
loses himself in memories of his brother.

Tus orders preparation for Dastan's death rites on the day the messenger announces their father's imminent arrival and for the first time in his life Garsiv wants to kill him. He shouts at him that Tus has given up hope the moment Dastan fell ill, has just been holding a deathwatch all these days and is ready to bury him when he's still breathing. He manages to get a punch in before his guards drag him away. He throws off their hold and runs outside to the stables where he quickly saddles his horse and gallops out of the city towards the plain; the thundering hooves mask his screams of anguish and the tearing wind whips away his tears.  
It is late when he returns to Dastan's chambers; Tus again sits like a statue next to the bed, praying. The silence is oppressive.

Night has fallen and the cooler air spilling in through the windows has freshened the chambers, Garsiv has begun to nod off when Princess Tamina shows up unannounced. He's angry at her intrusion and the way she moves towards Dastan as if she has the _right _but Tus stops him with a calm hand on his shoulder. Garsiv doesn't trust the princess, he remembers her looks at Dastan and the mysterious dagger, he knows there's something there he's been left out of and he doesn't like it. He's ready to slaughter her when she reaches into the sleeves of her robe and her callousness even while promising a cure enrages  
him. Right now, he hates her and watches her like a hawk while she pours the elixir in Dastan's mouth. When she finally steps back, he rushes over to his brother and watches him anxiously, he lets his hand rest on Dastan's brow for a moment but the way it makes Dastan's skin seem even paler against the nut brown of his own, pains him. A rustle of clothes indicate the priness has left and he looks up. Tus is sitting again in the chair, his hands cover his face and for one dreadful moment, Garsiv thinks he might be crying but Tus makes no sound. Tus must be a king always. Garsiv pities him and yearns to comfort him so he sits down at his brother's feet and takes the misbaha out of his hand. The silver beads are warm and worn smooth.  
He prays.

The faraway sound of trumpets wakes him up with a jolt. The room is bright and the sunlight reflects off the colored blankets of the bed. Garsiv pushes away from Tus and stumbles towards the bed with a choked cry when Dastan's eyes meet his own.

* * *

TBC


	3. Let's not worry about what tomorrow will

**Let's not worry about what tomorrow will amass**

The fall of her beautiful city has devastated her, she is ill at the sight of the vile Persians murdering her people and pillaging the sacred temples. She hopes wildly that she sent out the Dagger in time and is glad she ordered the collapse of the access tunnels to the Chamber. She stands proudly in the throne room, she will not show fear before the Persians.  
Her aides whisper of a 'scene' in front of the palace, it seems the sons of King Sharaman have killed their uncle for treason and now request audience with her.  
The eldest prince enters the throne room first, accompanied by his brothers and soldiers. Tus, he is called. He's calm but unsure of himself, vacillating and deferential towards her.  
Before she truly realizes it, her city is saved, the Dagger returned -taken! It was taken! - and she finds herself betrothed to Prince Dastan, who looks at her so oddly.

After Prince Dastan leaves her in the palace gardens, she returns to her rooms and weeps. The enormity of what has happened sweeps over her and leaves her breathless. She has no desire to marry the man, but will submit to save her city and keep the sacred secrets even though she is fairly certain Dastan has already uncovered them. His hints about destiny are troubling. He is entirely too familiar with her, kind and polite yes but his gaze too frank and knowing.

The Persian revelry is subdued but still lasts till deep in the night, the sound of songs and raucous laughter spills through the windows, accompanied by the smell of roasting meat and spices.  
The Princes have not gone to their men but remain in the chambers she has set apart for them. She wonders if Prince Dastan is telling his brother all the secrets of the Dagger and fear grips her heart.  
She jumps up when her servants rush into her chamber and through the opened doors she can hear a man shouting for the healers.  
Peymaneh, her most loyal handmaid, bows before her: "Prince Dastan has been taken gravely ill, My Lady."

The priests have dug deep in the ancient writings until they came upon a vague text concerning the release of the Sands of Time and the effect upon the handler of the Dagger. All that unlived history, those memories, lives and deaths, all those thousands of unremarkable things that happened during the erased time are channeled through the chosen one. It would too much for anyone to handle, even for the Lion of Persia.  
She will not accept it, he has obviously been kind to her and Alamut, so she orders her priests to look further and has the most secret books brought up from the library to be studied.

Peymaneh brings her news of a fight in the throne room between the royal brothers. The fiery one called Garsiv has apparantly not taken Prince Tus' orders concerning the preparation for the death rites in stride. Tamina does not believe he punched his brother, surely even a prince would be viciously punished for harming the future King of Persia but her servant swears it is true. It sheds a new light upon the Persians but it's immaterial for now; time is drawing near. The end is drawing near.

The priests have worked hard, they have done heavy magicks and sworn fell oaths and she is presented with a small phial containing a bright green liquid.  
If this doesn't work, she knows Dastan's eventual death will be blamed on her; her chances of survival will be very low and she fears her city will be razed to the ground. It **must **work.  
Still, she is not afraid when she enters Dastan's chambers, he is her betrothed after all and she is allowed to be here even if Prince Garsiv seems to disagree. She waits and lets Prince Tus draw his brother away from his protective stance near Dastan's bed, but when she reaches for the elixir hidden in her robes, Darsiv draws his sword and advances towards her.  
She opens her hand and lets the phial glint in the torchlight.  
"This will heal him.", her voice is firm, she hides her own doubts deeply. "His illness is not natural but my priests have found a cure that will take away his fever."  
She looks at her future king and knows he has little hope. She does not wish to be cruel but she must be harsh. "Let me try, after all, what further harm could it do?"  
Garsiv bares his teeth at her and she knows that he'd murder her if it weren't for his brother's steadying hand.  
At Tus' assent, she removes the stopper from the phial and turns to Dastan. His grey pallor is only offset by the unhealthy sheen on his cheeks, his skin is drawn tight over his bones and she knows he's close to death. The depth of her fear and grief surprises her; she hardly knows this man so why this wealth of emotions connected to him? With one hand, she holds his head steady while she drips the potion in his opened mouth. Her hands shake and a few drops roll down Dastan's cheek. She is uncomfortably aware of the heat of his body, the smell of burning spices and sweat makes her stomach roil and she wants to be away from here. At last, the phial is empty and she draws back with a last look at her…the man on whom her future depends.  
Prince Garsiv rushes towards the bed to cradle his brother's face in his hands and the emotion in the act shocks her, she glances at Prince Tus who looks grey and tired. It may be a deathwatch he's been keeping, but it has been a watch, patient and unwearying and full of love for a dying brother. It's given her much to think about.

When the trumpets announcing King Sharaman's arrival sound in the distance, she's ready. She has bathed and dressed in fine clothing, determined to be deferential but not submissive and to show kindness to a fearful father. She settles down on the marble floor and prays for the continued preservation of Alamut and the health of Dastan and when Peymaneh rushes towards her with a smile on her face, she realizes the Gods have not abandoned her. Dastan will live. Joy blooms in her heart and she knows that not all of it is elation that her city is free of danger, but there is heartfelt pleasure that her betrothed is safe. She laughs and thanks the Gods.

* * *

TBC


	4. Fill my cup again, this night will pass

**Fill my cup again, this night will pass, alas.**

When he finds himself alone with Garsiv and Tus, it's late at night. Dastan has feared this moment. His brothers are smart and the stop-gap lies he's been telling have not convinced them; they've been raised together after all and know each other's tricks.  
It's very hot in the room so he throws open the sandalwood window screens and glances at the campfires down below in the streets. It seems he's had too much bad wine, his head hurts and he's dizzy.  
Behind him Tus' voice is low and insistent, demanding answers and Garsiv is shouting again. He smiles, Garsiv is passionate and headstrong but must he be so loud all the time? He turns towards his brothers but his vision is swimming, a grey mist descends over him; there's only a flash of Tus' shocked face before everything goes dark.

He drifts for a long time, swaying softly as when he was a child and could not ride all the way on the court's yearly move to the summer palace and had to travel by camel. The heat is stifling and he's nauseous. He can hear voices outside the palanquin and recognizes his brothers', he wants to cry out to them that he's thirsty, he's dying but he cannot move and the darkness washes over him again.

He climbs out of a deep well and finds himself in the middle of a sandstorm. He's buffeted on all sides by the shrieking wind, the sand stings his face and eyes and enters his nose. He can't breathe and falls down while trying to cover his face with his cloak. The heat presses down on him. He's back at the Sandglass, the Sands roaring out of the opened dagger and all of Time thundering through him. Tamina, Tus, Garsiv, his father, Nizam, Bis …he can hear their voices over the howl of the wind, see their faces through the whirlwind around him, he reaches towards them but falls and is buried deeply in the sand. In the distance, he hears someone weeping. _Garsiv?_

He is lying in a small boat, looking up at the wide blue sky and the burning sun above him. When he glances to the side, he sees the banks of the river passing slowly by, there are grey geese among the reeds. His limbs are heavy, he's so weak he cannot even lift his hand to shade his eyes from the sun. Just when he wonders if he's going to just float all the way down to the sea, someone leans over him, blocking out the sun. Tamina smiles at him and puts a cool hand on his brow, her scent surrounds him and he feels completely at peace. He can sail into forever like this.

He wakes up in a shock of pain and it takes him a few moments before he gathers his wits and realizes he's staring at the ceiling of his chamber in Alamut. The blankets are rough under his fingers and the bright sunlight hurts his eyes. When he hears the distant sound of trumpets, he glances towards the windows and is surprised to see his brothers sitting next to his bed. Tus is asleep in a chair, Garsiv sits next to him on the floor and Dastan can see a glint of silver in his hands. Dastan watches as Garsiv wakes and blinks against the brightness, looks over to him and freezes for a moment before wrenching away from Tus and towards the bed.  
"Dastan!"

* * *

TBC


	5. O Life, you put many traps in my way

**O Life, you put many traps in my way**

It's been two days since Dastan has been returned to them from certain death; it's been twelve days since Tus has killed his uncle, a man he loved perhaps more than his own father. Nizam had been his mentor and mainstay for years, a man who had taught him so much and had been there for him when his father had been too occupied.

To have had to look into that trusted face - mad denials screaming through him - then shift to his brother's earnest gaze, open and pleading while all the while feeling his uncle's burning eyes and the weight of his immense authority pressing on him.  
His father's words had clamored through his brain while he doubted and hesitated. "Listen you heart." _How did Dastan know? _He wishes his brother were already well enough to explain his actions, but he's still too weak and Tus doesn't want to question him in this state.

Nizam's fate was sealed the instant he drew a weapon on Dastan. Tus could not stand by and watch his brother be murdered, even if he had to slay his second father to keep him safe, even when it had destroyed him too.  
And after all that, seeing Dastan succumb to this strange illness - 'unnatural', Princess Tamina had called it - it had been too much and he'd given up. He had wallowed in self-pity and despair, guilt eating away at him and left with nothing else than to pray for forgiveness.

He sighs. Perhaps he isn't ready to be king yet if he lets his emotions reign over him like this but his father's grief and anger is almost as potent as his own. He dares not face the King even though Nizam's spies have confessed to the treachery, even though dozens of their men witnessed Nizam's cowardly attack on Dastan, even though Garsiv stands behind all he did; he still killed his father's brother and he knows that if a child of his ever killed Garsiv or Dastan, he would never forgive the act.  
Something twists inside him and fear tastes like bitter gall on the back of his tongue at the thought of losing either of his beloved brothers.

Later when he will be king himself, he wants Garsiv to be his General leading their armies to glory and he wants Dastan to be their advisor, soothing their ambition and anger and restraining their rashness. He believes that with these men beside him and his father's wisdom and laws backing him, he might just make a good king after all.  
He knows he will always be stained by Nizam's blood but he is ready to accept that his actions were justified. The stain of Dastan's blood would've destroyed the family and he couldn't let that happen. In his heart, he knows what is right and it steels him against recriminations.

When the summons come, he doesn't hesitate. He's ready to see his father and he is unafraid.

* * *

TBC


	6. Dare to try, is what you clearly say

**Dare to try, is what you clearly say**

As soon as he's sure Dastan will recover, Garsiv throws himself in his work.  
He's busy morning till night organizing the troops, overseeing weapons and repairs, giving orders for quartering the men and horses, everything to keep the troops occupied, in shape and ready to be deployed again when needed. His work further complicated by the addition of the King's own troop and he doesn't even want to think about getting the Alamut forces compliant with his own. After all, Dastan will remain here and he will be damned if he doesn't do his brotherly duty and leave him with a finely honed and well-trained corps of loyal Persian warriors.

He is embarrassed by his emotional outbursts during Dastan's illness. He has always enjoyed a healthy competition between the both of them, Nizam had encouraged it…He stills, horrified at the poison his uncle has dripped into his ears even though he knows part of it is his own jealousy. Tus is to be king and Dastan has nothing to prove to anyone, he knows exactly who he is and what his place is in the world. Garsiv is the middle son, Tus was wanted and Dastan was chosen but he's just the spare and he must always fight to prove himself, to step out of his brothers' shadows.  
Therefore, he's angry when Dastan pulls tricks like stealing the honor of first blood from him in a battle as important as this or takes his right of precedence away. It is all he has. Achieving great honour in battle is all he has to distinguish himself with while Dastan has no use for glory.  
He'd hate his brother if he didn't love him so much.

Dastan's illness has changed everything, the reality of losing the brother he has quarreled with for so long has torn something away from him, like a scab off a festering wound.  
He has been jealous and petty, too influenced by his uncle and goaded into disputes with Dastan. Their relationship has grown from a normal sibling rivalry to viciousness in the last few year and he grimaces at some of the remarks he's made and the resulting look on Dastan's face when he'd gone too far.  
He signs his last letter, pressing the reed pen down hard on the parchment scratching and staining the valuable vellum. He doesn't want to become as bitter and venomous as Nizam, who must've loved his brother once too. He hopes he's not too late.

His servants rush in and remove his armour at his command. He'll be free of it tonight, there'll be no hand on his sword to visit Dastan, no barriers between them in the hope they can regain what has been lost.  
He can see his future as one of Tus' generals leading their armies to glory. He dreams of being a good man and a respected leader, loved by his brothers and family. He smiles and thinks that perhaps he will name his first son Dastan.  
His heart is light as he heads towards the palace.

* * *

TBC


	7. All that is, thy command must obey

**All that is, thy command must obey**

Dastan is tired of his room. He wants to go out and explore Alamut but after being on the receiving end of the Evil Eye from his brothers, his father, his betrothed and Bis; and the fact he still feels so weak, he complies and remains in bed. It would not do to incur their wrath, he's not that brave.

Tamina has explained about his illness, they are quite open now that they're aware of each other's secrets; there is no use in lying and he has agreed to protect the Sandglass after all.

He thinks much of what has happened. He cannot ignore the fact that even though his brothers abandoned him in the days that weren't, he betrayed them too. Tus, at least. He allowed himself to believe Tus had killed their father, had willfully passed him the poisoned gown. He had been sure of it and he wonders now when his uncle became more trustworthy than his brother.  
He wonders how it comes that any of them would believe such evil of the other. Even dying, his father had believed him to be a murderer and his brothers had accepted it. He wonders if it's him specifically or of it is the fate of any king to be thus mistrustful of his sons - even though he has no claim to the throne.  
He swears that he will not allow their bond to be weakened further by petty jealousies. 'Your love for each other is like a sword and it needs to be kept strong', Father said it well.

The only question that remains is what to tell his brothers. It eats at him. The Dagger preys on his mind.  
"Brooding again, little brother, or planning an escape?"  
"I'd need some rope first as the blankets don't knot well, think you could smuggle some in, Garsiv?" He looks up at his brother leaning casually against the doorframe. Garsiv looks well, younger somehow without his usual black chain mail and breastplate. Dastan sinks back in the cushions, tired already as his brother sits down into the chair next to his bed.  
"Garsiv, your sword?"  
"I don't think I need a sword to visit my brother, yes?"  
He looks at Garsiv for a long time, trying to understand and he curses that he's so tired and muddled all the time and unable to make sense of his brother's words at once.  
"You're never unarmored in front of me. Even when Father summons us for dinner, you wear your sword and vambraces at least."  
"Yes."  
His head spins, "Garsiv, I don't understand."  
Garsiv looks chagrined for a moment. "Partly, they were my own feelings but Nizam often told me how you were attempting to usurp my place and that I should not show any mercy and -" Garsiv suddenly lurches out of the chair, stomps through the room and sets a pillow flying with a well-aimed kick.  
Dastan smiles at the sight of the Garsiv he knows so well: loud; but he sees the anger and pain on his brother's face and it sobers him.  
"Nizam has said many things to keep us quarreling and to make us lose respect for one another. He tried to break the love that binds us and with time, he might have succeeded but he didn't."  
Garsiv looks at him and the wild hope on his face makes Dastan ache.  
"Garsiv, you are my brother…let us **be** brothers."  
Garsiv sits down again and passes a hand over his face before smiling and Dastan notices the tension draining from his posture.  
"So," Garsiv says, "how much rope were you thinking of?"

* * *

TBC

Author's note: I'm fairly sure the next chapter will be the last for this fic as I think I've explored what I wanted to. Again, a thousand times thanks to the people who have reviewed and favourited this fic!


	8. You lead me away and call me astray

Author's note: I hope you have enjoyed this fic as much as I did. It definitely got away from me as it was supposed to be just a bit of a oneshot drabble and I usually don't write anything of any length. Thanks for sticking with it and reviewing!  
I may, may, write a sequel but I'm not sure. I have a few ideas but we'll see where it goes as I'm not so good at plotting.  
Anyway, thanks again for reading, reviewing, favouriting, etc. You guys rule!

* * *

********

You lead me away and call me astray.

Tamina has forbid him from telling Tus and Garsiv about the Dagger and the Sands of Time. He's tried to explain to her that his brothers aren't stupid and definitely know something is up but she's adamant that his brothers cannot be trusted with a secret of this magnitude without wishing to abuse it. He clenches his fists. No matter how much he cares for her, he believes she's wrong. While he can accept they might be tempted to use the Dagger to change certain outcomes - perhaps battles lost - he thinks they're wise enough to be able to resist the impulse. In any case, perhaps the Dagger ought to be destroyed, he's not so foolish as to believe the danger is past. Was not one of the Hassansins a priest of the Sands once? There is no reason to tempt fate  
again.  
Tus deserves to know why he had to kill Nizam. He doesn't doubt Tus' wisdom and Garsiv's loyalty and even though they still see him very much as the younger brother, he hopes they will respect his decisions about the disposal of the Dagger. His hand rests over his heart and he hopes they won't require proof, he's not eager to stab himself in the chest again. Then again, it had hurt less than seeing both his brothers and his father murdered.  
No, he will make his own decisions.

He sends word to Garsiv and Tus that he wishes to see them and they join him in the evening. He allows Tus to fuss over him for a bit while Garsiv mocks them in the background. Garsiv has brought pomegranates as a treat and despite the warning looks Dastan dares to spit a few seeds in Garsiv's direction. A small struggle ensues, only broken off when he starts coughing from the exertion and Tus breaks them apart. The hilarity of the moment dissipates when Tus clears his throat.  
"Dastan, you wanted to tell us something?"  
He accepts the goblet of wine from Garsiv before reclining against the pillows. "Yes, the truth of what happened."  
They sit like statues throughout his tale, grave and grey and they look at him with such eyes.

His brothers are clearly troubled by his tale of murder, recrimination and deceit. He sees the anger building in Garsiv and he's too tired to deal with his onslaught of passion but again it's Tus who calms the waves.  
"Brothers, we all have much to say but it's impossible to justify actions that now have never happened. What you told us is very painful-", he presses Dastan's hand, "but now is not the time to discuss it. We have other priorities."  
Garsiv stands up stiffly. "The Hassansins will have to be taken care of urgently. I'll ask Father for permission to take some men and -"  
"We will wait until Dastan is healed and then we will all go, Garsiv. This concerns all of us and it is a duty we should execute together. No, don't argue, I will not let you ride towards vengeance and danger on your own."  
Garsiv sits back down, looking mulish.  
Tus paces through the room, his face as serious as Dastan has ever seen it.  
"Dastan, the Dagger. You cannot conceive…the power it…"He trails off and looks out of the window at the blue vault of the sky and in that instant Dastan fears Tamina's worries are justified.  
Tus turns towards them, looking wild and afraid. "You were lucky, Dastan. We all were. We could have all died!", he laughs, "We all did die!"  
Dastan gets out of the bed to comfort his brother, Garsiv supports him with a strong arm around his shoulders as he lays his hand on Tus' arm which is nearly vibrating with tension.  
"Tus, I-"  
Tus whirls around and grabs him by the shoulders. "No, brother. You must understand that as long as the Dagger is here, as long as it exists it will be a risk to all of us."  
"To everything.", Garsiv adds solemnly, "It must be destroyed. Absolutely."  
Dastan gasps in relief, which apparently alarms his brothers and he finds himself deposited back in his bed in seconds and his brothers settled in the chairs next to him.

"Can it be destroyed?"  
"Yes, Princess Tamina knows a way."  
Garsiv slaps his knee. "Good, then we'll meet the fine princess as soon as you're better and hash out a plan. There's still one point though, what do we tell Father?"  
Tus sighs. "Nothing more than he already knows. Dastan uncovered the deceit due to a remorseful spy and on accusing Nizam, was attacked by him in a cowardly manner leaving me with no other option than to intervene with fatal results."  
Dastan stares at Tus and realizes that his brother has changed in the last weeks, there is no a whit of the doubting man left as if in removing Nizam's influence, he has gained the self-confidence he needed.

Garsiv spits a pomegranate seed at his older brother and the tension shatters when they all burst out in laughter. It seems none of them will allow the others to grow too big for their boots in this family.  
The servants bustle in with tea trays, sweets and fruits at Garsiv's order.  
With an ease they haven't felt in years, they drink their glasses of hot mint tea and enjoy the honeyed sesame cakes and set aside their further worries for just one evening of convivial, brotherly camaraderie before their trials begin.

The End.


End file.
